Be With Me
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: "I've asked Mr. Molesley to be with me." Missing scenes and wishful thinking from S6E04.


**Missing scenes and potential spoilers from Ep 4 of S6. I really hope you like this. I'm still working on do you remember the first time?, I've not forgotten it.**

She knew it was risky to approach him in the servants' hall at the moment. The area was never entirely deserted at this time of day but it was empty enough right at that minute for her to risk it. He had some cutlery in front of him, he was working upon it intently.

"Can I ask you a favour?" she asked him, slipping into the chair beside him.

He looked up from his task immediately.

"Of course you can," he replied without hesitation, "What is it?"

She took a levelling breath casting her eye towards the far corner of the room for a minute, trying to think of exactly the right words, trying to summon the courage. He was watching her carefully, not without concern.

"What's the matter?" he asked her.

"You know Sergeant Willis wants to see me?" she asked him.

"Of course," he replied immediately, looking entirely serious, the colour filtering a little out of his face, which did not exactly encourage him.

"Well, I was wondering, if you'd mind-… That is, I'd rather not, if I didn't have to, go into it without-…"

"Do you want me to be there with you?" he asked her, "When he's here?"

"If you don't mind," she replied, grateful that he'd supplied the words for her.

"Of course I don't mind," he replied immediately, his earnest expression consoling her in a way that little else could have done at this moment, "It would make me feel better, actually. I'd hate to think of you in there by yourself. And Mrs Hughes wouldn't like it either," he added, as if by afterthought, "If you went to speak to the policeman alone."

"No, I don't imagine that she would," she agreed. Then, a moment later, "Thank you. It means a lot to me."

He resumed looking very carefully at the forks in front of him against as he replied, "It means a lot to me too."

She had too much on her mind to interrogate that fully at the moment but, again, it soothed her.

 **…** **..**

"You won't regret this, you know."

She jumped a little at the sound of his voice, she hadn't realised that he'd come out of the servants' hall with her.

They not really had the chance to discuss the chance of the trial fully with everyone around them, and it would have been difficult to do it without spoiling the happy mood of the Carsons' return.

She stopped a little way from the stairs, stopping just around the corner to talk to him.

"I hope you're right," she told him softly.

"You've done the right thing," he told her softly, "You've done the brave thing. I'm -… I'm proud of you, if I'm allowed to be."

She smiled a little, looking up at him a little shyly.

"I think we can probably allow that, Mr. Molesley," she told him softly, "Even if I'm not sure I've earned it."

"You have," he told her firmly. Then, "He could have ruined you. But you haven't let him."

She gave a sharp sniff, taking a deep breath.

"What is it?" he asked her. As if by instinct, he'd reached out in her direction, his hand hovering near her arm, not quite touching her.

She smiled in defeat, composed herself a little. They had withdrawn a little further around the corner, out of sight of the servants' hall and the stairs.

"I just-… don't want to raise your hopes, Mr. Molesley," she told him softly, not able to look at him, "I don't know if it's true, Mr. Barrow says it is, but I don't know whether or not to believe him-… He seems to think that you're fond of me."

"Of course I'm fond of you," he replied, looking nonplussed.

"I mean, in a _loving_ way, Mr. Molesley," she told him, her eyes swimming a little, she might as well say it, even in these moments as she nipped the whole thing in the bud, "And if you do, you should know that he _did_ ruin me, in the way people usually mean when they talk about it. I want you to know that, if I could go back, I _would_ every time. So that you could want me now."

"Phyllis," he said her name in a way that she wasn't expecting, his voice strangled with emotion.

When she looked up she half-expected to see tears in his eyes too. But he was watching her with clear eyes. Eyes that were full of emotion, and surprise, and tenderness. For a moment he didn't seem to know what to say.

Then, he seemed to realise that he'd called her by her first name, in a broken voice no less.

"Miss Baxter," he corrected himself, clearing his throat a little, "I meant it, you know," he told her, "When I said he can't hurt you. I know you think he can, but you're wrong. And I also mean that he can't hurt how I think of you. Nothing he did to you, nothing he-.. made you do, is going to make me think any differently of you."

She stared at him for a moment, hardly believing what he was saying- wonderful, unbelievable man. She bit her lip a little as it threatened to tremble.

"And how do you think of me?" she asked him.

His gaze ducked for a moment.

"I hate to tell you that Mr. Barrow is right," he told her.

A laugh spluttered out of her mouth, partly amusement, partly disbelief. She clapped a hand to her mouth, startled that she'd made such a sound. He smiled a little.

"I'm fond of you, Miss Baxter," he told her softly, "In a loving way."

She could not help but smile.

"Oh," she said softly, her eyes closing, her heart welling with a happiness like it was physically rising in her chest.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that he was beaming at him. And she reached forwards, gently taking ahold of the front of his livery, tugging him towards her. His arms wrapped around her, startled but enthusiastic, as she lifted her lips to brush gently against his.

 **…** **.**

Everyone was still occupied with welcoming the Carsons home. They were able to slip up the stairs without very much trouble.

In her bedroom, they stood as they had done at the foot of the stairs, his arms around her, her hands tugging at his livery. His lips wandered eagerly down her neck, his nose brushing against her hair and nudging it loose.

She would never have credited it, that Peter Coyle's involvement in her life could bring her this much good.

But she wouldn't think of him, not now. She refused to think of anyone but the man in front of her, adoring her skin with his mouth in a way she definitely hadn't seen coming either. Again, she was incredibly glad of the failings of her imagination, incredibly grateful for the reality.

"Joseph," she murmured, asking him gently, her voice breathless, tremulous and tender, "Be with me."

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